ought to be the name of someone you love.
it's why they come here, the tired brides, the men, the maids
so-called in ill-fitted dressed.
you'd almost like to see flamingos here
stepping to the bending of trees
and where the flower beds grow to, and then
the plaque that says who and what it's all about.
you know inside is the cataract of life. out
here is for photos, what to show your friends
because it's how to believe they love you
if they nod and squeeze your upper arm in delight
for the flowers all flamey for the flowers all swooney
are sure delightful
i don't know about flowers.
i can't think what i do know about really.
ok, none of the flowers have names.
the gardeners in green caps with big plastic buckets walk like they
know something about something like they know what they need to know
but they don't speak english. pulling up old dead leaves
and you can't see the hands the way they're inside of stickering
batches. the hands the way they plunge into plastic. leaves! inside
of plastic! what's all this? sorry, no, no spik ingliz.
the cars hishwahhhh on kelly drive. blap blap go the shoes
of runners. deciduous means a whole lot more to me.
shake of tarp and sound of rake. fat kids bike thin paths.
and the brides, and the brides.
wish them the luck of the photographed.